Every month a man arrives in my town. He is never seen or heard, but on the first day of every month he kills somebody.

Every month, it was the same ritual.<br><br>A man would come into town unnoticed. He would stay for just one hour, claiming his victim, and then he would leave, once again melting into thin air. No one had ever seen him or heard him, but everyone knew when he had claimed a life. It was as if a ripple in the water had spread out, leaving only sadness and loss in its wake. His true purpose, no one could guess, but everyone tried.<br><br>They thought he was the grimm reaper. They thought he was a demon, or a ghost, or maybe even something from outer space. They thought he was Death himself, trying to make up for lost time.<br><br>His victims, however, were random. No common ground existed between them, no family ties or friendship. To say that one deserved death more than another in our town was blasphemy of the highest order. The people in my town, all of them, were as innocent and pure as a child. They were good, and we all knew it. Which is why the first day of every month was so detestable.<br><br>As a child I would sometimes feel a chill down my spine as I walked through the quiet streets of my town. It was a feeling I couldn’t explain, one that no one else felt. It was as if I *knew* the man was there, watching me, waiting for me, ready to take me whenever he wanted. I would run as fast as I could, not stopping to look back until I had locked myself in the safety of my bedroom. My parents would tell me I was being paranoid, that there was no reason to feel afraid. But deep down I think they knew what I knew: the man was out there, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.<br><br>As I grew older I began to notice something else. People in my town didn’t die. Not naturally at least. The man would claim a victim every month, but outside of that nobody died. There was no sickness, no old age, no injuries that couldn’t be healed. We were all invincible.<br><br>People said the man was a blessing. They said he had done the impossible: he had made us immortal. Some even said that he was the reason we never got sick, that he was the reason we lived so long. They said that he was the town’s protector, the one person who had the good sense to realize that the only way for a town to live forever was to replace its citizens every now and then. They said he was a genius, a hero, a savior that deserved our eternal gratitude.<br><br>I didn’t see it that way. I saw the man for what he was: a monster.<br><br>I was thirteen the first time somebody I knew died. She was a cook at the local restaurant. Every time I went in she would personally make me a piece of pie, chocolate with whipped cream, my favorite flavor. I had never tasted anything like it. It was... perfect. The man came for her one day when I was walking to school. I felt the ripple, the chill, and I knew she was gone. When I went to the restaurant they told me what had happened. I didn’t believe it. I would go there every single day, searching for her, hoping that the news had been a lie. It never was.<br><br>That day changed something in me. I no longer saw the town as a place of beauty, but a place of ugliness. I no longer saw the man as a blessing, but a curse. I hated him, and I hated the town for not hating him as I did. My parents tried to tell me that they did, but deep down I knew the truth. I was the only one who saw him for what he was: a killer.<br><br>When I turned sixteen I made a vow. I would find the man, no matter what it took. I would figure out who he was, where he came from, and more importantly, how to stop him. It wasn’t an easy road, but I followed it anyway. I scoured the town for any hint of what he might look like, when and where he might appear, anything that could lead me to him. I talked to people who had lost family members, friends, colleagues. I talked to people who worked at the morgue, the body collectors, the funeral homes. I even talked to the man who was in charge of digging the graves. But no matter how far I went, I couldn’t seem to find any trace of the man. It was as if he didn’t exist at all.<br><br>Years passed and still I found nothing. But I refused to give up. I couldn’t let myself believe that the man was some kind of supernatural being. I couldn’t let myself believe that. I had to know the truth, and I had to put an end to it no matter what the cost.<br><br>And then, one day, it happened. I was sitting at the local restaurant, eating my usual chocolate pie with whipped cream, when all of a sudden I felt the chill. It was the first of the month, and the man was here. I scanned the room, looking desperately for any sign of him. The cook had just come out and was talking to a gentleman at the bar. She smiled and laughed, and he tipped his hat in return. But as he looked away I noticed something that I had never noticed before. The slightest flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look, but the man was gone before I could.<br><br>I knew that it had been him. I had finally found him. I jumped out of my seat and ran out of the restaurant as fast as I could. I followed the last place I had seen him, my eyes scanning the streets frantically. I felt my blood pumping in my ears as I ran. This was it, the moment I had been waiting for.<br><br>I followed him down the street and into a park. He was nowhere to be seen until I heard a noise. I walked through the park, following the sound, my heart pounding in my chest. I turned a corner and saw him.<br><br>He was tall, with broad shoulders. Black hair covered his head, and his eyes, though I couldn’t see them, seemed cold and calculating. He was dressed in a black suit, with a white shirt and a black tie. And beside him, on her knees, was a young girl, no older than ten. The man was holding a knife to her throat, and it was covered in blood. She was crying, tears of pain streaming down her eyes as she begged for mercy.<br><br>I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The man wasn’t just a killer. He was a monster. I screamed at the top of my lungs, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t seem to notice. The girl screamed too, and then all of a sudden everything went black.<br><br>I came to later, lying in my bed at home. My head was pounding in pain, and I couldn’t remember how I had gotten there. My parents were sitting in a chair next to me, looking concerned. I tried to sit up, but they pushed me back down, telling me I didn’t need to worry, that I was going to be okay.<br><br>I tried again, this time more forcibly, but they held me back. I yelled at them, asking what had happened, asking what had happened to the girl. They hesitated, before finally telling me the truth. I had been lying in the park, unconscious, when someone found me. They thought I was dead, and they couldn’t figure out how or why. I was rushed to the hospital, where they were able to revive me. But it was too late. My parents told me that the man came shortly after I was taken away. He killed the little girl I saw him with, and no one knew why.<br><br>I was in shock. The man was still out there, and now he had killed another innocent person. And for some reason, he had spared my life. Why?<br><br>A week later I received a package in the mail. There was no return address and no indication who it was from, but inside was a note. It was written in red ink, and it only contained one sentence.<br><br>*I spared your life because you are like me.*<br><br>I didn’t know what to make of it. I was nothing like the man. I wasn’t a killer, or a monster. I was a human being, with a soul and a heart and feelings. But the note lingered in my mind, haunting me. And when the next first of the month came around, I knew exactly where I would be.<br><br>I went back to the same park where I had seen the man kill the little girl. I waited for hours, and just as I was about to leave I felt the chill. I looked around, but I couldn’t see him. Then, all of a sudden, a hand was placed atop my shoulder. I turned to see the man standing behind me, a small smile on his face. I froze, unable to move. The man didn’t move either, he just stood there, watching me.<br><br>Then a noise caught my attention. I looked down a hill, where a group of children were playing tag. They were laughing and screaming, completely carefree. One little girl, however, was sitting alone on a bench, watching them play. She looked sad, and I could tell she wanted to join in. I stared at her for a second, and when I turned back to the man he was smiling even wider.<br><br>I knew then that she was his next victim. My stomach tightened, and I knew I had to do something. My body seemed to move on its own, and I pushed the man as hard as I could. He stumbled back, a hint of surprise on his face,